


Dennor Week Day 7: Medieval/Fluff

by TheNamesSid (TheNamesNotImportant)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Dennor Week 2020, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-17
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:47:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24235285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNamesNotImportant/pseuds/TheNamesSid
Summary: Norway used to have serious trouble expressing his emotions, which resulted in some interesting journals.
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 21





	Dennor Week Day 7: Medieval/Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely happy with this and it's a little bit of a mess. Oh well, I managed to finish and I'm happy with that.

Flicking on the light, they wander into the room. It’s filled with a myriad of objects, relics of ages past, and all of it covered in dust. Most of the items are positioned neatly on shelves, but a few weapons hang from the walls and a muslin tarp covers a large mound in the corner.

His companion steps forward. “Man, it’s been a while since anyone went in here. Really a shame since I spent so much time arranging everything for display.” His voice is a bit softer than usual.

He hums in acknowledgment. “You do that a lot.”

“Do what a lot?” The Dane tilts his head.

“Waste your time on things you shouldn’t.” He looks about the room before dragging the cloth off the pile. A cloud of dust caused both of them to cough and shield their eyes.

“I do not.” He pauses to hack once more. “I do not waste my time! We get to appreciate all my hard work right now. Give me one thing I wasted my time on.”

He bites his tongue. 

“And you are not one, Nor,” The Dane warns upon seeing his face.

“I didn’t say anything.” He begins searching through the pile of miscellaneous things. There’s all sorts of junk stacked on top of an old chest. He sees at least two ornate music boxes, one very real human skull, a worn out plush duckling, and a daisy pressed between two sheets of glass alongside a bird feather. “Den, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to own human bones.”

“It’s also illegal to own half the weapons hanging on the wall, do you see me inviting the cops over for tea?” He retorts.

Continuing his search, he clears off the old trunk. He tries the lid, but it’s heavy and doesn’t want to open. Den kneels down beside him. 

“There’s several latches, you know.” The Dane flips them all up, thankfully none of them had locks, and they heave open the top. Another cloud of dust flies up to greet them. “I think I got a splinter from that,” he whines.

He takes one look in the trunk and spots what he’s looking for immediately. He crouches down beside Den. An old journal, dark stained leather and thick yellowed pages bound by a necklace with a red gem dangling from it. He picks it up.

“Is that it?” He waits for his nod to continue. “Why’d you give it to me anyway if I wasn’t allowed to read it?”

“I was...shy. And I’m almost surprised you didn’t ignore my instructions.” He stares at it, tracing the pad of his finger along its edges.

“Hey!”

“Almost.” His companion still grumbles but otherwise is quiet. He pulls the necklace up and off the book. The chain is surprisingly still intact, being made of real silver now tarnished. He rubs the gem, a ruby he assumes, gently, wiping off the dust from it. He sets it aside. Den grabs it and inspects it curiously. 

“What did you write about in it anyhow?” He sets the necklace down, curiosity sated.

“You.”

His eyes widen. “You’re joking.”

“I’m serious,” he says. He glances over to the wild haired blond. His brow is furrowed slightly, but his mouth is still tilted up. And his head is tilted to the side. Again. “Quit tilting your head to the side whenever I look at you, you look like a lost puppy begging for food.”

The Dane huffs. “I do not.”

He reaches over and grabs his head, adjusting it back. He lets his hands linger for a second before returning them to the journal. “Yes, you do.” He receives a pout in response.

Opening the book carefully, so as to not tear anything, the very first page is littered with notes and small, crudely drawn sketches. He flips to the next. The writing is all in West Norse, the words written in younger futhark. It took him a second to puzzle out some of the words. It was an entry about an expedition that Danmark had dragged him along for. He complained about the strange people and the new place a lot. He also commented on Den frequently. 

The rest of the book was much of the same, save for a few special pages.

“Is that a drawing of me sleeping?” The Dane raised his eyebrows at the picture. It wasn’t perfect, but it clearly showed him lying in bed with his eyes closed, lit by a crooked window. Turning his head to the side, he tries to hide his face in his shoulder, an embarrassed flush across it. His companion reads out the comment written beneath the picture. “Wait, you wrote, and I quote, ‘He’s cuter when he isn’t running his mouth about other people.’ Nor?”

The Dane is struggling to not laugh while he refuses to look at him. “It gets worse.”

He’s about to ask how when he flips to the back of the page. This one, he remembers writing. “Is that-”

“A cheesy love poem? Yes.” He groans. “And I remember it being bad.”  
“Oh my god, you even doodled hearts in the margins.” He grabs the book from his hands, and he’s thankful for it. He covers his face with both hands, cringing when the dane begins whispering “What the fuck” in confusion. “How old were we when you wrote this, Nor?”

He tosses it around in his head for a moment. “Developmentally? No younger than 15, no older than 17.”

“You know, I love you, I do, but I have to say, you were kind of fucked up as a kid? Not that I was much better.” He nods into his hands. “And this certainly isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve seen, not by a long shot.”

“Yeah. I, uh…” He looks up. Den is shaking his head softly at the writing. “I had trouble with expressing my feelings. I tended to be a bit on the possessive side sometimes. That’s not the only one either.”

His eyebrows shot up. “There’s more bad medieval love poems.”

“There’s more journals as well.” He reaches into the trunk grabbing two more leather books. He averts his eyes when the dane gives him an incredulous look. He’s not expecting the pair of arms pulling him back. He’s forced to lay down with his companion on the floor. 

“We’re reading the rest of these.” He throws his arm over his eyes. “I mean as long as you’re better now, it’s fine. You have learned to not be creepy, yeah?”

“I know better now.” 

“Great. Then let’s,” the Dane pulls his arm off his face and throws his own over his chest. “See just how many weird love poems younger you wrote. To be fair, there were some genuinely just sappy parts.”

“I think it gets better as it goes on, but it takes a while. At least a hundred years,” he muses, squinting to see the book held above them. “I wrote about my feelings in secret for quite awhile before finally confessing. Some of the journals have been lost.”

His companion chuckles beneath him. “Glad you’ve figured out your feelings by now. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“That’s enough, leave the sappiness to the medieval love poems, Den.”

“Aw, but I love you, Nor. Just as younger you so clearly loved me.” He had already found another poem. This one is thankfully less creepy.

“Shut up, before I put my full weight directly on your chest,” he jokingly snaps. He’s not sure if he really wants to remember all the things he used to write, but Den seems thoroughly entertained, so he goes along with it.


End file.
